


Mores Desperacionem

by tsurai



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Praise Kink, ambiguous timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/pseuds/tsurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has a close encounter with a Despair Demon, and Cole trying to fix it only makes things worse. Cullen helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mores Desperacionem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SOMNlARl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/gifts).



It started when the party ran into a Rift in the Forbidden Oasis. Well, Dorian says “ran into” but it was more like “actively sought out”. Iron Bull and the Inquisitor both darted forward the moment it came into view, fast enough that Dorian barely had time to get a barrier over them before they clashed with the first of the wraiths. He got close enough to send a cone of ice over the wraiths closest to him. Cole leapt back into visibility with only a small burst of smoke, quickly dispatching them before fading back into the shadows. Dorian shook his head, never quite used to the spirit’s displays of skill, before concentrating once more on the fight. Both warriors were already down to the last three wraiths, and Dorian picked off the last one as they waited for the second wave.

Green lightning crashed to the earth right beside to him, and the next moment the mage’s vision filled with black robes as the demon leapt at him. “Ah, despair demon!” he warned the others, fending it off with his staff even as long claws gouged through the cloth on his left arm. Then it whirled away, up and outward in a whirl. He took only a moment to assess the situation – the Inquisitor and Bull were concentrating on a rage demon that had come through with several wraiths. “ _Kaffas_ , I hate demons,” he grumbled, looking back just in time to knock away a spear of ice. Already he could feel the effects of his close encounter in the trembling of his hands, the insidious voice in the back of his mind that asked, _why not just give up? you’re worthless…_

“Get out of my head,” Dorian snarled, throwing a fireball at the demon. It caught, held as Dorian followed it with another burst of flame. The demon shrieked, ear-rending, as it died and melted back into green fadestuff. A moment later, Cole reappear, backstabbing the last of the wraiths with a single hit. The Inquisitor’s hand rose, closing the rift with a rush of power that set them all rocking back on their heels.

“Victory feels good, doesn’t it,” Bull said, throwing his massive ax over an equally massive shoulder. Dorian snorted, turning away from the group so that none of them could see the strain on his face.

“Let’s head back to camp,” the Inquisitor interjected, “it’s already getting dark.”

Dorian hummed in agreement, starting ahead. He sloshed through the cool water, hating it, hating the buzz of conversation behind him, hating his dark thoughts…

“Sparks in his hands, but they die. Dreading failure. I’m trying, Father. Worthless, my own son can’t conjure a simple flame,” Cole spoke suddenly. The Inquisitor and Bull went silent. “Glass and blood on the ground. He bled three slaves for this. _Why can’t you be a good son and do your duty?_ It hurts.”

Dorian froze at the first sentence, but the last made him fight not to lash out. Instead he clenched his hands at his side and didn’t turn. “ _Vishante kaffas_. Do drop it, Cole. The despair demon got too close, that’s all.”

Cole’s footsteps were nearly silent, even in the water – he surprised Dorian by appearing at his side. “But it hurts you, _old aches made new_. I want to help.”

“No, thank you,” Dorian replied through gritted teeth. The only brand of “help” the spirit could offer for this wound was to make him forget, which the mage vehemently did _not_ want.

“But-”

“I said, _drop it_.”

“Cole,” the Inquisitor called, “I think you should leave him alone.” The spirit opened his mouth as if to argue, but something in Dorian’s expression – or perhaps in his mind – made him stop. He clasped a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, squeezed with a feather-light touch, and retreated.

Dorian could feel their concerned gazes on him the whole way back to camp.

* * *

 

Dorian was still in a black mood by the time they returned to Skyhold. No matter how he tried to shake it, he could barely muster up the words to bid them farewell when they finally parted ways. The mage retreated to his room – desperate to be alone. He shut the door, leaning his back against it for a long moment.

“ _I don’t want to live a lie – don’t make me do this!”_

“ _You must, for the good of your family, your bloodline_. _”_

Across the room, Dorian caught his reflection in the mirror. Slowly, he straightened and went to it. The dusky light coming through the window outlined high cheekbones and the strong ridge of his nose, setting contrast against the beauty mark at the corner of his right eye – the same spot Felix so playfully pretended to wipe away when they were young boys. His wavy brown hair and manicured mustache completed the resplendent picture of an attractive man. Dorian was well aware of it, content to tell all and sundry how he improved their lives merely by standing in the same room. He had to admit he garnered amusement from their reactions – from flirting to ill-disguised disgust. Still, ill-sentiment lingered in the back of his mind. _A thousand years of selective breeding to distill the bloodline, a bloodline you are_ wasting _._ Howard's words still echoed in his head, wearing him like waves beating relentless against a cold shore. Dorian's eyes prickled with heat, and he shut them quickly. _The scion of House Pavus does not cry_. That last had been his mother's chastisement from, blast, over two decades ago – a product of child Dorian's frustration with reading a dense tome of Tevinter history.

 _You have renounced me, so get out of my head_ , he thought viciously, body so wound up that it ached with tension. He wanted nothing more that to climb into his soft bed with its Orlesian throw pillows and shut out the world, but he had little doubt the cloud of self-loathing would follow him into the Fade. Hopefully that problem was nothing a little wine could not fix, and he happened to have a very fine vintage on the table next to his fireplace armchair. Dorian opened his eyes, dashing away the tear that escaped with a negligent hand, scrubbing through his hair, and made his way to the waiting respite. It was just as he sank onto the plush seat that a knock sounded at the door to his back.

Dorian sighed. “Come.” He inspected the wineglass next to the bottle; it was used, but didn't have anything unsavory growing at the bottom, and Dorian couldn't be bothered to search for another when he felt so wrung-out. The door creaked a little as it opened, but Dorian didn't turn to look, simply filling the glass nearly to the brim.

“Dorian. I didn't think you'd be here.”

He let out a breath, fingers tightening around the stem. “Where, pray tell, am I supposed to be?” he asked, listening to the familiar jangle of the Commander's armor and chainmail.

“There's nowhere you're _supposed_ to be, but you usually show up for a game after- Dorian, are you alright?” Cullen had come around the front of the chair and was looking at him with concern.

 _Venhedis_. His hair was a wreck, and Maker only knew the state of the kohl around his eyes. The scrutiny made something in him shrink away. “Quite alright, Commander. I'm fine.” It was weak and they both knew it. “I'd rather be alone now, if it's all the same to you.”

Dorian did his best to meet the other man's gaze steadily even as Cullen hesitated. Then the man brought a gloved hand up to his cheek, gentle but firm as he stroked a thumb over the soft skin below Dorian's eye.

“You know I will leave if that's actually what you want,” Cullen murmured.

“No, I-” without his permission Dorian raised his hand to clasp Cullen's, but didn't pull it away. Already he could feel his thin veneer of calm splintering. “When did you get so assertive?” he tried to smirk, voice cracking. It was enough to bring the other man to his knees in front of Dorian, armor and all.

“Around the same time I realized I was going to faint from lack of blood, for all the pleasure you took in making me blush,” the warrior said. Dorian chuckled weakly and set down the wineglass so he could lean forward. He buried his face between the crook of Cullen's neck and the dark fur on his shoulder – the man smelled like mud, dogs, and fading lyrium. Typical Fereldan, but pleasant for all that. He sighed as Cullen's hand slid from his face to the top of his head, leather clinging to his hair.

“It was a despair demon,” Dorian began, and the words came pouring out. How it dragged poisonous thoughts to the light, how memories of his parents' vitriol gained a foothold when Cole tried to help. The details of the memories themselves. For once, he didn't really listen to himself as he spoke, didn't measure and edit the words before they left his mouth. Cullen continued running a hand through his hair, though eventually the man shed his gloves, and listened patiently. Eventually the words petered out, Dorian still breathing into the man's shoulder, eyes closed.

“Dorian,” Cullen ventured, “you are the most wondrous man I've ever known.”

Dorian couldn't stifle the incredulous laugh. “I rather think you are overestimating me, Commander.”

This caused Cullen to lean back on his heels, enough that Dorian was forced to sit up or risk falling into his lap. “You are.” Cullen's hands slid down to his, the warrior's calloused fingers starting to work the ring from Dorian's left pinky, though his gaze never left Dorian's. “You are one of the most gorgeous, sweetest men in Thedas.” He moved to the next ring. “Though you cheat at chess, your honesty has never been in question. You can talk circles around any noble at the Orlesian Court, but you don't have to because your smile stuns them.” He started on the right hand, but all Dorian could concentrate on where Cullen's words and the look of open honesty on his lover's face. “I sit at my desk when you're away and think of your smile, the way your voice gets when we, uh,” he cleared his throat (and _there_ was the blush Dorian had been expecting all along) “when we sleep together. And I have never, not once, thought you unworthy of my time and effort.” He worked the last of the rings off and tipped the palmful onto the table next to the wine. Then he reached forward, setting to work on the buckles of his travel robes.

“Cullen. _Amatus_ , what-” Dorian was cut off by a soft, slow kiss that sent a jolt of heat through him.

“I'm going to show you,” Cullen answered, and that seemed to be the last he had to say on the matter, for soon he was tugging at the mage, urging him to stand so Dorian could shed his boots and breeches. Cullen pulled them off him gently, skimming along bare skin as he went. The slow movements had the desired effect, cutting though some of the fog from Dorian's depressive thoughts.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he tried again, but the blond was already steering him towards the bed in just his smalls. Cullen stepped back for a moment, throwing off the fur cloak and stripping off his armor with the efficiency of a warrior who was accustomed to alternating between fighting and sleep at any given moment. He finally shed the undershirt, rippling muscles just at Dorian's eye level as the mage sat on the bed. The sight was enough to get through to him, heart starting to speed with adrenaline as Dorian watched the last of Cullen's garments fall away. He could feel himself hardening, too, a dull pressure that had his ring-less hands tugging at the laces of his smalls. Before he got them all the way off his lover was on him, broad hands pushing him back until Dorian lay flat against the bed, his knees over the edge as Cullen straddled his waist. Then the man was kissing him, dragging his tongue over Dorian's lips before slipping inside. It wasn't until Cullen bit his lip that Dorian moaned, sliding his hands from where they'd settled around the other's waist to cup his shoulder blades, tugging at the other until they were pressed flush, warm skin to warm skin. Cullen slipped a hand between them, gently tugging at his half-erection.

“Cullen,” Dorian sighed, but couldn't quite think of anything to say.

“Shh,” Cullen murmured. In the dim light Dorian could make out the wideness of his pupils, the arousal in them as evident as the hardness pressed against Dorian's hip even as his lover kept his touch slow but firm. “I want to look at you like this. Laid out for me like this – you're lovely.”

Dorian could feel his face flushing, and damn the man, _he_ was supposed to be the one embarrassed in this sort of situation, not Dorian. He drew breath to speak, but Cullen was kissing him again, rocking his hips against Dorian's as his twisted his hand once and again. It punched the air out of him, and Dorian could already feel his cock start to leak under the ministrations.

He dug his fingers into the meat of the warrior's shoulders, gasping into his mouth, “ _Cullen_.”

Cullen pulled back to let him breathe, shooting the altus a smile that made it that much hard to take in air. “Move up,” he said, rolling to the side. Dorian scrambled up near the headboard, leaning on his elbows as the Cullen seemed to pluck a glass vial out of thin air.

“When did you get that?” Dorian blinked, incredulous. If he didn't know better, he would swear it was summoned by magic.

Cullen just smiled, pulling out the cork to spill oil over his fingers. “May I?” The question was soft, expectant. In reply Dorian simply brought his knees up and spread his legs. Cullen moved to kneel between them, fingertips reaching to rub along his entrance. A small sound left Dorian involuntarily, making Cullen smile wider and kiss the mage's knee. “Maker's breath, you're gorgeous. How did I ever get so lucky?” He pushing a finger in, working to loosen the muscles.

“Perhaps it's that – ah – that bloody coin you carry in your pocket?” Dorian attempted, but a second finger in his ass stopped any other words. He was panting hard – as if the Inquisitor had insisted on running up another mountain rather than simply walking around it. His eyes were fixed on Cullen's face, the way the ends of his golden curls shone in the last of the day's light. He wanted to preserve this moment, set it flat between panes of crystal so that he could forever recall the crinkle of Cullen's eyes and the play of muscle over his chest in perfect detail. “ _Kaffas_ , I'm ready,” he growled, biting his lip hard on the last as Cullen crooked his fingers at exactly the right angle to hit his prostate. He wasn't stretched enough with just two fingers, but he didn't care. He wanted to Commander now, as close as physically possible.

The demand was met with a chuckle, Cullen leaning forward to kiss him deeply before he poured more oil onto his cock. He scooted forward, lined up carefully, and pressed in. They both groaned when the head breached his still-tight ring of muscle. Cullen didn't stop, keeping his gaze locked with Dorian as they slowly came together. Dorian relaxed as much as possible, but couldn't quiet his panting.

“ _Amatus_ , please-” he pulled Cullen down for a kiss, hooking his leg around the man's hip to urge him forward the last inch. Only when he reached the base, balls pressed tightly against Dorian's ass, did he pull back. “Fuck me, fuck me.” It was a plea on Dorian's part, though he'd never admit it. Cullen complied without a word, sliding back in tight. They sighed in unison, close enough that their breath mingled as one.

Cullen thrust slowly, purposefully enough that a few minutes in Dorian felt like he was going mad. No matter how he tried to speed things up, the ex-Templar refused to let him take control. And then he was talking: “Oh, fuck, Dorian. You're so good. So hot and tight.” He punctuated the words with kisses not just on his lips but his cheeks, his chin, his eyelids. “I could do this all night, love.”

“Cullen, harder. I want-” but Dorian couldn't articulate it, to focused on the steady thrust of Cullen's cock, made more intense by the words falling from his lover's lips. He reached for his own, stroking himself in time. Cullen finally sped up, just a little. His movements became harder, a touch more erratic with impending orgasm. Dorian lifted his legs, dug his heels into Cullen's ass to make him go even harder. He could feel his own climax rapidly approaching in the corded muscles of his thighs tightening, the tautness of his jaw. “Cullen,” he warned.

“Yes, love, that it. Come for me. Do it, Dorian. I want to see you.”

The words were enough. Dorian cried out, fist pumping his cock as semen shot out over his stomach, some reaching his chest. Cullen was only a few thrusts behind, mouth dropping open as his paused over him, still buried in Dorian's ass. He thrust few more times, just enough to wreak havoc on Dorian's sensitive prostate before pulling out. He dropped beside Dorian, throwing an arm around the mage as he tucked a pillow under his head. Their eyes met once again, both drooping with exhaustion.

“Was it good for you, too?” Dorian spoke eventually, managing a smirk. Cullen chuckled, pulling the duvet over both of them to ward off the chill.

“I guess that answers the question of whether you're feeling better.”

Dorian simply sighed, wiggling forward a bit so he could rest his head on Cullen's shoulder. They were quiet for long minutes, and Dorian could hear the shores of sleep calling his name. He didn't fight them – with any luck, his dreams would be full of the sweet man beside him, not the darkness of the last few days. It was only when Dorian was halfway to the Fade that Cullen spoke again in a whisper.

“You're not worthless.”

 _I know_ , Dorian wanted to reply, but then he was gone. They slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Read more or prompt me on [tumblr](http://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com/).


End file.
